


Rose Lalonde and Dave Strider's End-of-the-world Sex Playlist

by dripstone, TTMIYH



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Angst and Porn, Doomed Timeline(s) (Homestuck), Ectobiological Incest, F/M, Music, Sad Ending, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-02-09 20:30:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18645553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dripstone/pseuds/dripstone, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TTMIYH/pseuds/TTMIYH
Summary: "It's time to reflect on the fact that, at this point, Dave and Rose haven't learned they are brother and sister yet. Four months is a long time. Did something happen between them? I guess we'll never know.(Something happened between them.)"-Andrew Hussie---Two emotionally constipated eighteen-year-olds find solace in music and each other.





	Rose Lalonde and Dave Strider's End-of-the-world Sex Playlist

**Author's Note:**

> God bless my co-author Dripstone - without their help, editing, and additions, this idea bunny probably wouldn't have sprung to its angsty fruition.

_I remember the quote, I didn't understand it at the time. I failed to achieve any degree of understanding in the ensuing years, which are three in number. I presume Herb means that inherently you cannot be commercial and artistic; you cannot be commercial concurrent with having a preoccupation with the level of storytelling that you want to achieve. And this, I have to reject. I don't think calling something 'commercial' tags it with a kind of an odious suggestion that it stinks, that it's something raunchy, to be ashamed of. I don't think if you say 'commercial' means to be publicly acceptable, what's wrong with that? As long as you are not ashamed of anything you write if you're a writer, as long as you're not ashamed of anything you perform if you're an actor, and I'm not ashamed of anything. This is the area I know. But I think innate in what Herb says is the suggestion made by many people that you can't have public acceptance and still be artistic. And, as I said, I have to reject that._

tentacleTherapist [TT] has begun pestering  turntechGodhead [TG]  
TT: Mr. Strider.  
TT: I’m not sure by what mechanism you’re winding your particular clockwork, but it’s been, as of now, 168 hours on the dot since we’ve entered the game.  
  
---  
  
In Lalonde Manor, stacked high to the Second Gate and then abandoned in its construction, Rose Lalonde returns from a productive day of doing nothing in a doomed timeline worth any value. To be fair to her, however, the phrased “doomed timeline” hasn’t quite entered her lexicon. It wouldn’t enter anyone’s lexicon for another thousand pages or so, when, amusingly enough, Rose’s wife-to-be would be the first to utter the phrase. Unfortunately, though, this isn’t a story about Kanaya.

It's a story about Dave and Rose.

| 

In the Land of Heat and Clockwork, atop a revolving gear grinding against its compatriots in turn, Dave Strider continues his productive day of doing nothing in a doomed timeline worth any value. Despite being the Time player, the big man himself with a half-plan, the guy who’d eventually get as big of a handle on this as humanly possible and then drop it like it was hot, the term “doomed timeline” hadn’t even occurred to him. He didn’t know he was doomed. He just thought shit was fucked.

And yes, shit was fucked. Shit was mad fucked.  
  
TG: alright mom thanks for the heads up  
TG: did you remember to get me my birthday present from under the hannukah bush or whatever it is you guys do  
TG: i dont have to answer four questions before i get it right or is that a different holiday  
TG: but if i do i know the answers to the questions already and theyre all some variety of who cares presents now  
TG: anyway if its not a red rider bb gun im gonna be one ornery little boy ill tell you what  
TT: I hope you know that I am now reading everything you are saying in Hank Hill’s astonishingly atrocious accent.  
TG: rose you know im from texas how dare you insult my lord and savior hank hill  
TG: he of white boy ass and the mightiest propane flames blessed be he  
TG: who provides us even char and a distinct non-charcoal flavor  
TG: who even likes the taste of burnt wood on their steak?  
TG: not me  
TT: Dave, please.  
  
Rose sighed exaggeratedly exasperatedly, the same way she did every time Dave launched into one of his distressingly charming diatribes. Did she mean distressingly charming? No, mental backspace. She meant charmingly distressing. No, that’s not right either. Some intersection of annoyance and fondness. The kind typically reserved for cats when they knocked your shit over and ended up breaking something, but then they were really cute and made up for it, except Dave was a person, not a cat, and Rose’s feelings about him were considerably more complicated than falling on a simple “annoyance-charmingness” binary. On some occasions, she had considered it akin to love, but she didn’t believe in falling in love with people that she had never met face-to-face.

She stepped past the front door, remembering the ghost of a now absent mother, just lingering beyond it somewhere. As if she expected to open the gates and see her sitting there with her bottle of vodka, now repossessed by the enterprising Seer to numb herself when the situation called for it. She shut the door behind her, letting it click without engaging its lock. Sometimes, she wished that her needlewands had come with some measure of telekinetic control. The blinding glare from the Land of Light and Rain was never a great way to start her daily unwinding.

“Jaspersprite,” She said, addressing the phantasmal melding of an eldritch princess and her long-dead feline companion. “Do you think you could busy yourself elsewhere for a while?”

| 

Dave was keeping on top of shit as per usual. Just kinda casually checkin’ in on it, seeing if it needed anything, making sure it was comfortable. There was some things he hadn’t kept a handle on because well, A) she’d probably fucking eviscerate him for it and B) other stuff. The whole ‘some things’ was actually one thing and that was...Rose’s deal. A casual peek into this revealed that there were about twenty different visible roads branching out from a “one week into clusterfuck hellshit timeline” reminder, and none of them led anywhere good. Basically he was in the universe’s shittiest choose-your-own-adventure in which the ending was always ‘get fucked over’. Thinking about it kept his mind off what his sword was doing, though. Combat was definitely fucking something and, as he decapitated another game construct, he looked away. It’s way easier in Diablo II than it is with an actual sword in your hand.

He looked around. Weird that there was only one underling dude on this gear, but he wasn’t complaining. The grist grind continued. All it took was a quick jump back and forwards, a maneuver he was getting somewhat used to but still kind of baffled him, and he was back on the timeline with his cache loaded, ready to begin walking back through his own Lethal Lava Land platformer hell. While she typed, he walked. It sorta seemed like the time travel flash step was kind of cheating, an attempt to live up to Bro that could only be done in half-measures, like his half-sword, but whatever. It saved time. The low light of glowing lava accompanied his forward leaps back home, zipping through the air and across gears like a speedrunner doing backwards-long-jumps.  
  
TT: It’s been exactly one week. You and I both know well enough by now where our second gates lead us.  
TT: Your apartment hasn’t been extended due to Jade’s currently unknown whereabouts. Somehow, I doubt it will be.  
TG: hard to build houses from the grave rose  
TG: unless youre a ghost contractor  
TG: shit thats a fucking idea though  
TG: ghost contractor  
TG: sounds like the latest movie from comedy legend and overall shithead jerry seinfeld or whatever  
TG: dan akroyd?  
TG: does he do anything nowadays or just sell that weird fucking crystal skull vodka shit  
TT: I happen to have some, actually.  
TT: It’s decent.  
TG: rose wtf  
TT: What?  
TG: rose youre 18 you cant just go hitting the sauce like that  
TG: what will people think  
TG: theyre gonna worry all your other virtues are compromised  
TG: everyones going to be looking at you all sad and judgemental and then talk shit behind your back on saturdays  
TG: (you go to your thing on saturdays right or is it fridays)  
TG: everyones gonna know what you are  
TG: theyre gonna be shocked  
TG: its gonna be front page small new england town news  
TG: bad girl  
  
Rose stifled a chuckle as she went from floor to floor. The upper echelons of Lalonde Manor generally lack windows, or are well shaded, or generally aren’t relevant for her to go and close the blinds of, but in the living room, she desires that kind of darkness after a day in the sun. She walks around, closing all the blinds around the house, in every room worth closing blinds on, until her alchemized curtains block out even the tiniest specks of light. The house’s natural lighting, when turned on, is sufficient. She keeps just a lamp on, as well as the bathroom light, bathing the interior in a chiaroscuro glow.

| 

On the way home, Dave passed by some Nakkadiles hungrily nipping at his heels. Not literally, because at this point they know to step off unless Dave is feeling particularly emotionally compromised. Sorry, did he say emotionally compromised? He meant when his horseshit meter was full. They sorta looked at him, guessed his meter was full to bursting and possibly about to overflow, and settled for following him with their eyes and teeth. Creepy little fuckers. Leave it to him to get the consorts with the least respect for personal fucking space. Part of him even wondered where they got all the damn onions from.  
  
TT: I don’t see why not.  
TG: okay picture here that im a cop with a stern look in his eye and a firm belief in the dare program  
TG: summoned by the worried new england townies directly to your front doorstep  
TG: (dw theyre gonna grill me later for all the juicy details on just how wasted you are so the gossip train can continue)  
TG: and im here to say  
TG: rose thats illegal  
TT: Who cares? It’s not like we’re on Earth anymore. Considering the scale of the meteor storm being forecast, it may be possible that there’s not an Earth anymore to be on.  
TT: Laws are made by people who have other people to control.  
TT: We have neither of those. Other people, nor people to control.  
TG: yeah but its like  
TG: i dont know you arent gonna get  
TG: too into it right  
TT: Dave, it’s not like I’m anywhere close to my mother’s level of constant inebriation.  
TT: Solving environmental puzzles grows tiresome. Sometimes, at the end of the day, I like to relax.  
TT: What have you done recently that’s relaxing?  
TT: Listen to the incessant metal squeals of gears turning like pigs in the mud being stabbed?  
TG: uh yeah thats music to my ears its the new noise rock ive been craving  
TG: gotta have my tunes  
TG: damn get with it rose  
TG: but who cares about that you dont really sound like you usually do  
TG: are you losing it  
TG: should i be worried  
TT: I’m fine. Let me wrap back around to my original question:  
TT: Why haven’t you come over a second time since our initial scouting of the Gates?  
  
Rose grabbed the nearest wine glass from the kitchen. She knew there was an art to this sort of thing, that certain drinks went into certain glasses, but she wasn’t thinking that far ahead. A moderate splash of vodka from her mother’s disused bottle, and then topping off the rest of it with Coca Cola. She felt both fancy and foolish, which was generally how she felt most of the day anyway. Holding the glass by the bottom, swirling it like a vampire would swirl their goblet of blood, taking a sip and reeling from the harsh taste, but enjoying the disinfectant scent. The first swigs were much harder six days ago, when she first had her idea. That wasn’t to say they were easy, still, but she had grown used to the harshness, the acridity.

On some level, she craved it.

| 

Once he was past the nakkadile gathering, he pursed his lips, trying to think of an answer that she’d accept. She was fucking tenacious when she wanted to be. Hopping from one gear to another, he thought he had it. A bullshit non-answer to soften the real answer he had that neither of them really wanted to deal with. The real answer was sorta the elephant in the room and he didn’t really want to look at it: he knew what an elephant looked like, what its deal was, and why the room stank like a zoo. No use in metaphorically going ‘hey that elephant? Messed up, right?’ only for Rose to try and do some psychobabble at him or one of them to fall apart over it.

Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion that the one doing the falling apart would be him.  
  
TG: well as a cop ive gotta stay in my zone right  
TG: district?  
TG: beat  
TG: its beat  
TG: im losing my edge  
TG: i cant let my duties go to shit just to do a social call  
TG: besides theres like  
TG: a lot of prep shit left to do before  
TG: you know  
TT: Surely not so much that you simply cannot afford the luxury of a few minutes? It sounds as if the strain of your duties is getting to you, anyway.  
TT: What self-respecting police officer forgets the word ‘beat’?  
  
For a moment, Rose paused to consider the contents of her glass, swirling it with a certain flare that nearly had the contents splash out on her hand. The warmth of the vodka had begun to suffuse her veins, leaving her feeling just short of a mild buzz. There were two paths that branched before her: set the glass down on the nearby table that was already near to overflowing with bottles of various states of fullness or finish her drink? With a shrug and a grimace, she downed the rest. The alcohol sang within her, filling her with the kind of vigor that only a teenager sneaking her mother’s hooch could have. Even without fellow humans to police her actions, it still had the chime of the taboo about it, ringing around her ears like a bell. She felt the warmth already flooding her. Just one more shot would do.

| 

Dave stared at the overlaid text on his iShades, trying to think of how to make this just a little less honest. He couldn’t really just come out and say ‘Hey Rose, I’m super fucking spooked about heading through my dead best friend’s graveyard of a planet to come visit you and whenever I think about trying it I suddenly remember about twenty other things i need to do’. It sounded pretty lame. It was pretty lame. Here’s his last remaining friend dunking her whole-ass head in the sauce or drinking it out of her own shoe and having a one-woman party through it as a way to shake off the loneliness and boredom and he can’t even seem to find the fucking time to stop by for five minutes. The train of thought sort of made him feel shitty, which was enough to push through the stupid graveyard planet anxiety.  
  
TG: but i guess since the new england townies are clamoring for me to scope out just how far youve fallen i can do them a solid  
TG: so youd better hide all the booze and start gargling mouthwash young lady  
TG: the sheriffs coming to town  
TT: Weren’t you just a police officer who was engaged with D.A.R.E.’s sad attempts at steering today’s youth away from addictive substances, not a sheriff?  
TT: But I digress.  
TT: I can make no such promises. You were the one who revealed the unfortunate sullying of my virtues, after all. I now have a reputation as a wanton woman to uphold.  
  
With the archetypical authority coming to regulate the law of the land, Rose decided that her plan, her clever, clever plan, was a go. It bears repeating that she had been preparing for quite some time now - at least the past five days. It was likely brewing somewhere in her head the sixth, as well.

Putting the emptied glass down, she gives it a quick rinse with water and begins to trot her way up the dimly-lit stairs. This was the sort of operation that required subtlety and finesse. A little bit of liquid courage in her system, and a little bit of desire in her belly. _And, most importantly_ , her inner dialogue went…

She stepped into her bedroom and immediately began stripping out of her dress, quickly rendering herself artfully and tastefully nude. One of the best parts of the alchemization process was its ability to quickly render new outfits into existence, which included lingerie. It took only a couple of matches to make something lacy, slightly translucent, and mostly red, a matching bra and panty set hidden back under her mostly black and purple attire. She figured the chromatic arrangement of the piece would really get under Dave’s skin in all the right ways. If his pesterchum color was any indication, he seemed to have a predilection towards the crimson. She idly wondered if he, too, colored his text after his irises.

| 

He wasn’t looking forward to the journey, but it had been a week and there really wasn’t a reason to keep putting her off. This whole thing could last as long as they needed it to. Dave sighed for the benefit of the nearest crocodiles. They gave him a look that was both friendly and hungry, like they were considering the soup pot again, so he got moving. Capchaloging his shitty sword, he listened for the massively fucking grating HAA HAA HEE HEE HOO HOO on repeat of Calsprite. Nothing. This was one trip he really, really didn’t want it(? him?) tagging along on. Something about adding a puppet in would amp up the horror movie factor enough to get a reaction out of him. Leaving behind the gathering of consorts, he headed to his second gate, bracing himself before making the hop to LOWAS.

John’s planet had been a quiet and sort of gloomy place before, but that was nothing compared to now. The little yellow dudes, the salamanders, were doing some sort of candlelight vigil as he passed them. Yeah, that’s not something he wanted to see. He started moving faster, doing that little white-person-on-the-crosswalk jog. It still felt like it was taking too long to get to the second gate. He wondered how drunk Rose would be by the time he got there.

A few minutes passed before he turned his attention to Pesterchum again.  
  
TG: hey rose  
TT: Yes, Dave?  
TG: lay off on finishing of the shoe champagne until i get there  
TT: Beg your pardon?  
TG: the shoe champagne  
TT: Yes, repeating yourself isn’t going to provide additional clarity, here. It isn’t as if I failed to overhear what you had to say.  
TT: So, once again: Beg your pardon?  
TG: okay fine if this is going to be a federal fucking issue  
TG: during your one-woman party of small-town debauchery i gotta assume youre just pulling out all the stops  
TG: as the dare sheriff its just something i have to do  
TG: gotta be ready for anything  
TG: snooty local jane eyre stuck in her own fucking attic antics included  
TT: That is not at all how Jane Eyre went, but continue.  
TG: now im just a humble man but ive heard it on good authority that you swanky bourgeoisie fuckers drink champagne out of womens shoes  
TG: dunk your heads in crystal fountains of chardonnay  
TG: and probably more idk im not the local menace here  
TG: so lay off until i get there and just put the shoe down  
TT: No promises. Hurry up.  
TG: damnit lalonde  
  
Rose isn’t quite scrambling in her need to get everything set up for Dave’s arrival, but her pace is significantly less leisurely. Her hubtop put at just the right point (marked with a small piece of electrical tape) for maximum resonance. She opens up Spotify, blessing its ability to remain functional, and scrolls through her playlists until she finds the correct one, martini glass in hand.

“Suffocation of Innocence”. Rose thought it was all very clever when she made it a year ago. She still thought it was slightly clever, if not just for the imagery. She gently tapped the shuffle button, and then proceeded to try and find somewhere clever to stand.

She had made it all the way to the couch when Dave showed up.

| 

Dave made the jump from John’s gloomy planet to Rose’s shining bright one with a sense of relief, though he was squinting even with the shades on. LOLAR was bright as shit. He craned his neck to look up and up and up at the rambling fucking tower of the Lalonde mansion. It was easy to forget just how fuckoff massive it had gotten from behind a computer screen.

He didn’t bother knocking. Nah, he just threw the door open and stepped in, looking around at the slightly-dusty wizard statue and the gloom of the entryway and, who else, for Rose. Wait, should he have struck a pose? Hands on his hips? Played up the long arm of the law thing? Nah, too cheesy.

“Guess who’s here. You’re not totally sloshed yet, right?” He let the door swing shut behind him.  
  
[Flight Facilities - Two Bodies](https://youtu.be/UGDqolmIhF8)

_Just two bodies_  
_Just two bodies  
_ _Been so ready to dim my mind_

Rose looked normal, but there was an air of mystery about her. Mystery and humor, of course, because Dave could tell that she had _just_ gotten into position to try and... Be coy? Look mockingly in his direction?

Poor guy wasn't getting it. But that was fine. What’s a little more buildup compared to a week of waiting? "No, I'm afraid not." Rose sardonically replied, with the exact same tone that one would read her text in. Sardonic. It was the wall she put up, constant and everpresent.

"So, first off and just to get this neat and tidy and squared away and shit, you sound exactly like you write, but more importantly, what's with the lounge singer getup? You gonna sing me some mournful showtunes in the skeleton of the disused opera house you once conquered all mournful and dramatically lit with no one to hear you but whatever asshole walks past the building and decides that whatever it is that’s happening its none of his business?" Dave spun, trying hard not to look at the little divot of cleavage that Rose had (unbeknownst to him) intentionally let into his field of vision.

"I thought I was a lounge singer, not an opera soprano. You're getting your metaphors mixed up once again. Should I take you to metaphor school, Mr. Strider?" Rose shot back, extricating herself from the arm of the couch and beginning to make her way towards Dave. It wasn't  _quite_ a lounge singer dress, but Rose understood the fundamental platonic comparison going on - it was slinky, the room was dim, there was soft music playing.

 _Come over or not, I've_  
_Been so ready to dim my mind_  
_Your body a drug, for mine_  
_Two bodies moving in_  
_Time and space to try and heal me_  
_I know what I want, so come over and_

She understood the comparison, inaccurate as it was. When she got a couple of inches from Dave's face, she could finally see through his sunglasses - the nervous, knit expression that he wore. He wasn't sure what he was seeing on Rose's face, because every one of his sensors told him it was lust, which was preposterous. He took a couple of steps back. "Nah, I think if I got the chance to never go to school again that’d be absolutely fucking fantastic, which, y’know, means that things are absolutely fucking fantastic right here and now considering that I’ll never have to do anything again except level grind like some slightly more physically active of mama's basement-dwelling weirdo, the kind that goes begging for hot pockets whenever his stomach starts complaining hard enough to put him off his game."

Rose laughed. Dave wasn't backing away enough to stop her from getting uncomfortably close, especially once he stopped actually backing away, and he let out a little "Oof" when she bumped her forehead against his. He could smell the bright, sharp scent of alcohol on her breath, and she tugged on her dress just enough to show a little bit more of what cleavage she had. The motion was unmistakable, and the fact that she was laughing at something he said should've been enough of a clue. "Is that what you'd like right now? A hot pocket? I believe we may have lost track of the original point, just a bit."

"What was that point again? Because as far as I remember you just kind of insisted that I take a leisurely stroll through the oily salamander best-friend graveyard on my way here-" That caused Rose's face to knit into a concerned scowl "-without actually giving me instructions besides "come over". You couldn't be more ominous if you dyed your hair black, let it grow out twelve inches, and hopped out of a television in a grody white dress."

"The  _point_ , Mr. Strider, is that you've been doing a lot of work with little to show for it except newer, stranger swords." Rose pulled out dialogue from every trashy romance she had ever read in her entire life, trying to summon those various authors into being from her doomed civilization in her mouth. She put a hand on Dave's hip and he jerked backward, not enough to remove her grip, but enough to show his surprise. "Increasingly esoteric, and yet somehow with higher and higher phallicness attributes. Freud would have a field day."

Rose was slurring just a bit. "The phallic swords are their own reward, Lalo-"

"Shh shh shush shush shush shush shush. Don't interrupt me." Rose cut him off, reaching up to remove his shades and toss them onto the couch. Surprisingly, he offered no resistance to this. "I want to have sex with you."

 _Hold me, I won't ask for anything more_  
_I'm hurting, use me now when I'm vulnerable_  
_It helps me fake some love for a little while_  
_I know what I want, so take advantage of me_

Dave nearly short-circuited. The simile centers in his brain immediately rebooted, and all he could do was stare at Rose, who was indeed, as he subconsciously suspected, literally trying to seduce him. It took him a couple of seconds to muster a response. "...I can't, Rose, you're drunk. That's a cardinal fucking sin. Over the line. I’d lose my badge over that shit. Going to have to take you to the drunk tank to cool off for a while."

Rose pulled her hands back to her sides, and then, unsure what to do with them, crossed them over her chest. "Dave. Please. Give me some credit."

"Whuh?"

"I had been planning this all week. I just needed the alcohol to go through with it."This time, Dave short-circuited for real. He couldn't even begin to grab for a coherent reply. Rose got back in close, bumping their noses together, keeping her arms folded. "Well? Are you going to kiss me, or what?"

_I don't mind if you take advantage of me  
So take advantage of me_

Dave kissed her.

Dave was clearly the kind of boy who had never kissed a girl before. It was excessively likely that he had never kissed anyone before, much less a girl, but then again, neither did Rose, although she did practice on her pillow a great deal. Her drunkenness, however mild, put her in the same category of sloppiness, as their eyes fell shut and Rose pulled him back to find some kind of surface that wasn't standing up. She barely managed to swipe his sunglasses away as she stumbled him over to the couch, the center of this disasterpiece in red and purple, scattering them to the uncaring AC unit zephyrs before pulling Dave on top of her. 

She wasn't even focused enough to feel out his lips. Just the sensation of being touched was enough to cause her heart to begin thumping out of its prison, attempting to escape. She scrabbled for his shirt, tugging it off of him and sending it into the distance, and started groping at his pants. Dave was chatty, even while making out, but his chattiness was reserved for mumbling and whispers now, mostly of curse words. He was already hard, which was excellent, and someday, Rose would get him to tell her the story about all those, frankly, ravishing scars scattered about his chest.

"Do you always talk this much during foreplay?" Rose teased, wriggling out of her dress unsuccessfully. It took Dave noticing the zipper along its side for her to get successfully removed from the garment, and his eyes bugged the fuck out, more than enough to satisfy any entomologist. It was as she predicted - he seemed to be loving the red.

"What, me, talkative? No way, you haven’t fucking heard talk-" He got, before Rose's rough grip in his hair pulled him back down into her gravity well. Slowly, the pile of shed clothes grew, the humidity and air conditioning and the inexperienced touching and grabbing causing them to develop a thin layer of sweat across their blushing bodies, and they hadn't even started in earnest yet. Rose reached down to grab Dave's length and pointed it at its target.

"Con-" "I'm on birth control, Dave. As I said earlier, give me some credit."

 _You're closed, you're a book. No lines_  
_Can't read you if I try_  
_And if that's the way you want it_  
_That's fine I'll just close my eyes and_  
_Try to ignore you, a free ride for you to_

"No reason to put anything in the way here." She whispered, pulling him close, and his body shuddered against hers. He was putty in her hands. What eighteen-year-old boy could resist a girl he had been flirting with online for at least four, five years, given the opportunity to do so at the end of the world? Her breath caught in her throat when he slid inside, worrying her lower lip with her teeth to keep her nonchalant facade, like she wasn't also freaking out on the inside. She leaned back, put her arms around Dave's shoulders, and let him hold onto her. Somehow, the embrace made him do what was previously thought to be completely impossible.

It shut Dave Strider up.

His face screwed up in effort as he pushed into her, hugging her back, slipping his arms underneath her back. He didn't care if they'd be falling asleep soon from it, and when Rose pried her legs around Dave's, he hooked their ankles together and pressed, locking them up tight in a cage made out of each other's limbs and torsos. He bent his head down and kissed her nipple, because he knew it was purportedly the right thing to do from all the porn he had watched, and she hissed through her teeth. He thought he did something wrong, so he stopped.

 _Hold me, I won't ask for anything more_  
_I'm hurting, use me now when I'm vulnerable_  
_It helps me fake some love for a little while_  
_I know what I want, so take advantage of me_

Rose opened her mouth to speak, so imagine her embarrassment when some kind of breathy squeak-moan came out instead. There were so many things she wanted to tell him. How nice he felt, but how gross all the sweat was, and how he was kind of bottoming out into her and stretching her out just a little bit too much, how it hurt, how she wondered if she was bleeding on her first time like every book she had ever read told her she had to have been, how adorable his whimpered cusses were, how comforting it was to feel so wanted and needed after a week of frog-pot boiling in the apocalypse.

But she couldn't. So she just told him: "You can keep going with that. It felt nice." Obviously, this was between a pant every other word, but the sentence came out nonetheless. Still, he kept his head firmly tucked between her breasts, mouth unmoving.

There were so many things he wanted to tell her. How nice she felt, but how honestly sorta nasty all the sweat was, and how she felt kind of too small and he kept poking something, was that supposed to happen?, and how she was squeezing him and how wet it was, how weirdly enjoyable her choice in music was considering he didn't expect her to really have any taste in music besides Beethoven or whatever an Emily Dickinson-wannabe would listen to, how comforting it was to be held and to hold after a week of frog-pot boiling in the apocalypse.

But he couldn't, so he didn't say anything, so she pleaded. It was almost desperate. "Dave. I have sensitive breasts.  _Please_. Your mouth was exceedingly pleasant." She was trying to straddle the line between uncaring and enticing, perhaps on some level deluding herself that this wasn't more than just carnal relations in a doomed timeline. To admit feelings from something as silly as sex on a couch would be so inane and trite and cliche, it was so obviously not for Rose Lalonde. She was beyond that sort of chicanery. "I want you."

 _I don't mind if you take advantage of me_  
_So take advantage of me_  
_Just two bodies_  
_Just two bodies_

This felt so silly. Stupid. It was stupid. He was dicking her down just fine, there was no reason for her to keep egging him on. His face was hot and flushed against her chest, and when he obstinately refused to go beyond that, she just stopped talking, just like he did. He finished inside of her, just like she asked, and his arms had fallen asleep, just like he knew they would, and there they were, tangled up and sweaty on a couch with the curtains drawn.

Neither one of them knew what or how or why to feel. Neither of them knew the proper etiquette. Rose found herself wishing she had a towel of some kind, and Dave was mixed between discomfort and attachment. When Rose's hand, the one closer to his neck, reached up, some subconscious part of Dave flinched in preparation for being tossed down a flight of stairs. When he found said hand running through his hair instead, painted fingernails ever so slightly teasing the surface of his scalp, he relaxed completely against Rose in one swift, all-consuming motion.

Rose, ever-perceptive, kept the ministrations going. More petting, soft and relaxing, until Dave had turned from putty in her hands to slime, his arms the only part of him with any sort of energy in them.

Every iota of that energy spent, tightly clinging to Rose like a baby monkey.

_Just two bodies_

**Author's Note:**

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